


Wake Up

by coffeecreme



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Drabbles, Existential Crisis, Light Angst, M/M, Songfic, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:48:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7160888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeecreme/pseuds/coffeecreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you just need to wake up for a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Woke The F*ck Up

**Author's Note:**

> Working on a possibly new mini series featuring the Fake AH Crew! Let me know what you guys think.
> 
> Woke The F*ck Up by Jon Bellion

He never really realized how quiet the city could get. Usually there was the hustle and bustle of the typical city sounds, people chattering and cars passing by and even the gunshots from the worse off neighborhoods he’d been so used to. He wasn’t used to the view now, and knew he never really would be. Sucking in a deep breath he released a small cloud of smoke, frowning into the horizon where the large Vinewood sign sat, lit up. A song played from his phone in the background, music carried away by the wind. What was he even doing here? He couldn’t pinpoint it honestly but…. It had to be him. Michael. With a sense of irritation clouding his mind he rubbed his eyes furiously, pressing the palms of his hands hard into his eyes and keeping them there until the pressure became uncomfortable and lights danced across his eyelids. 

He was scared, and he didn’t want to admit it.

How long could he keep doing this? Running around with a loose crew of misfit criminals failing at pulling bullshit heists that nearly got them killed? Running from the cops and listening to that maddening laughter in his earpiece when there was an explosion? How long could he continue to support Michael? He was barely an adult, only eighteen and fresh faced enough to know he could vanish at any moment without a trace and pull it off enough to settle somewhere, somewhere nicer and better and maybe make an actual living instead of sitting here….doing what exactly? What were they even doing?

He didn’t realize he was crying until a gasp ripped from his throat, and he released his hands from his eyes. Glaring down at his reddening palms he took off his glasses and wiped his dripping eyes against his hoodie sleeve. This building was taller than most in the area, and he could still see his stolen car from this height, not that it mattered much. He owned plenty of cars, plenty of bikes, stole even more than his share of vehicles. But why did he have to do that? He loved the thrill, he knew that. Sniping was his business, being a criminal was bone deep for him. He sighed, frowning into the chilling wind and ignoring his phone as it buzzed against the cement, content to just exist for a while.

Laying back with his sniper rifle next to him - one Michael had found for him and presented to him with a grin - and simply….sat. He didn’t want to think, to breathe, to really even be there. He certainly didn’t want to think about how one day he’d find Michael, Gavin, Jack, Ryan, Geoff, one of his crew his FAMILY face up on the pavement with glazed eyes and a slackened jaw. Didn’t want to think about losing the manic smile on Michael’s face when he set something on fire, or the way his dimples looked when he laughed. He choked back a sob thinking really about how fucked up his life had gotten so quickly, how much he hated and loved where he was at the same time, at the top of the FBI’s most wanted list yet untouchable just because Geoff Ramsey had dreams too big and too grand for them. 

He sat up and clutched at his chest, feeling it tighten with anxiety as he scrambled for his phone, hearing it buzz insistently on the rooftop. He hit the green button, sliding his finger across the screen without checking the caller id before holding it up to his ear and hoping the wind blocked the sound of his pathetic sniffling.

“Ray?”

Of course it was Michael calling. Michael would be the only person who knew that when Ray said he wanted to be alone, he really didn’t. He wanted someone by him to hold him through the tears and the shaking and the doubt. Of course he’d never admit that, but with Michael everything was so easy that he didn’t have to worry. There was no miscommunication between them, not until tonight anyway. Well, maybe not miscommunication, he’d slipped off after the heist failure with a murmur before Michael could get to base. 

“Ray, where are you? All your cars and bikes are in the garage so I can’t tell. What car did you steal?”

“Listen man I just….need to be alone for a while okay? Like seriously this time.”

He tried to keep the shake out of his voice but knew he failed when he was met with silence.

“I see you. Wait there.”

He sighed as the call ended and wondered how Michael even saw him before realizing there was a helicopter approaching him. He rolled his eyes, real subtle Michael, especially after a heist, and flopped back on the ground. The copter landed in the middle of the street, blocking traffic and causing a few crashes, and he heard an explosion before silence for a few moments. Fear clenched at Ray’s chest, wondering if Michael was caught in the blast before the door to the rooftop opened. He sat up on his elbows and watched with wet eyes as Michael approached, the smell of gunpowder and smoke clinging to his jacket. He sat beside Ray, not looking at him directly but huffing and spreading his legs out before him, leaning back on his hands. His face was marred by a frown, even as he glanced down at the wreckage of the copter, and his brow furrowed in thought.

Ray remained quiet, because that was Michael’s thinking face and he didn’t want to ruin it. He simply laid back and let Michael work through whatever it was he was thinking about, and sighed. 

“Hey Ray….”

Ray glanced over, noting that Michael looked a bit...perturbed. 

“Yeah man?”

“You know…..you know I kinda love you right?”

He seemed hesitant about that information, not wanting it to sound overused or unauthentic. Ray felt his chest flood with warmth and he sat up slowly, rubbing his elbows and tugging his sleeves over his hands. He sucked in a deep breath and nodded, smiling slightly and scooting closer to lean against Michael’s side.

“Well I mean….I kinda love you too so….”

Michael seemed to deflate for a moment, relaxing into Ray’s warmth before wrapping an arm around him and pulling him closer. Side by side they watched the flames from the exploded copter dance in the dark air even as the fire department attempted to smother them. Ray moved his mouth to Michael’s shoulder, eyelashes dancing across his cheeks as he debated sharing his thoughts.

“I’m uh…..I’m scared too.”

His gaze snapped to Michael, whose brow was furrowed again. 

“About the future I mean. It’s scary. But hey, I won’t ever leave you right? So don’t think too much on it okay?”

Michael turned to look at Ray, sincerity in his gaze that made Ray’s stomach twist in knots. How’d the idiot even know what was bothering him. Ray smothered a smile in Michael’s shoulder and hummed, nodding slowly.

“Sounds like a deal.”

_We live in an age where everything is staged, where all we do is fake our feelings. I've been scared to put myself so out there, time is running out, yeah. Need to let you know that last night I woke the fuck up, I realized I need you here, as desperate as that sounds, yeah-eh. Last night I woke the fuck up ,I realized I need you here, as desperate as that sounds, yeah-eh._


	2. Coming Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They used to walk the streets with switchblades clutched in desperate hands, like feral dogs too skinny and too young.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming Down - Halsey

They used to walk the streets with switchblades clutched in desperate hands, like feral dogs too skinny and too young. Michael was a God back then, vengeful and violent, quick to twist and slash. Ray was more reserved in those days, because back in those days the fear was still thick in his veins and the threat of being caught wandering alone with no parental guidance was still very real. They didn’t really go to school, they didn’t answer questions about their homes when they did. They ignored the lack of amber alerts when they had first run, they ignored the patrolling police cars with hardened officers who gave them no pity, only a hard hand. They lived on scraps thrown away in trash bins and dumpsters and slept on fire escapes off the ground where no one would really get them. 

They were scrawny and only 12 years old but they were already the best of friends. Michael had explained a thousand and ones times how much he’d thrown a fit when his parents had first said they were moving. His mother had been exhausted by the news, he explained, but his father got a new job and Jersey wasn’t cutting it. So they’d moved to New York to the bustling city in a crumbling neighborhood. He explained a thousand and one times how he was resolutely ignored for his temper and violent outbursts and how his siblings were favored over him. He resolutely ignored Ray’s comforting hands on his knees and shoulders, and Ray ignored the way Michael’s eyes would gloss over with something unshed. 

Ray had quietly retold a small story only about 3 times in their relationship. A story about an overworked mother who didn’t have time for him, for a father who hadn’t been around in years. About gnawing guilt over therapy trips and expensive anxiety meds that did little to stifle the suffocating tightness in his chest. A tightness that, Ray had quietly revealed, Michael seemed to abate. 

Michael had smiled and it was like pure sunshine. 

At 16 Michael was the Devil. He was wicked and bad and everything wrong with life, stuck in a mob that he didn’t like much but building a terrifying reputation for explosions and the smell of ash and a trail of blood. Admittedly, Ray was a little scared of him in those times. Back in those times they both had help though. A little Indian girl by the name of The Black Dahlia, one of a number of kids in a small family living on a crumbling block that collected and sold information, and also peddled jobs for those who needed one. She’d found them one day and fed them and they’d become fast friends, them and Dahlia. Dahlia helped build their reputation with a blinding smile and mischief in her eyes, spinning wild tales that caught on the wind about a boy who could chase the Devil out of hell itself. She spun tales about Michael as Ray took up guns and drugs. She then spun tales about Ray, seemingly like magic about a boy who could unlock your wildest dreams with a little bit of a cash and enough free time. 

She made sure he had access to all the drugs he could hope to sell, and in return he promised to move on to bigger and better things. She smiled at them with sympathy and venom, and in return they lived up to her stories. 

Ray took up a sniper rifle on a whim one day, if he was honest. It was a worn and ratty thing and he’d been thinking about all the video games they played in Dahlia’s house when the weather was too bad for them to sleep outside. It was almost like their base of operations at times, where they smiled at worn and hardened siblings and exhausted parents with dead eyes. He took up a sniper rifle placed in his hands by Michael with an excited glint (“look what I found!”) and took a few potshots from a rooftop in a bad neighborhood. He wasn’t a natural, if he was honest. However, he felt he liked the weight and feel of the gun in his hands, and the thought of Dahlia spinning tales about a sniper instead of a drug seller. So he tried his hardest to summon the heat of blood in his veins and the feeling of wind rushing in his ears, and when he took his first job and hit his first mark the smile on Michael’s face was worth it.

Michael became a Martyr at 18, when Dahlia told them they were too big for this blind town and that they should leave. She gave them a car and an out, and Michael went down in a blaze of glory. Michael Jones was dead, stuck in a warehouse fire caused by unstable chemicals. Ray’s Michael was sat beside him in the car, holding Ray’s hand and grinning against the wind as they sped far away from New York toward the other side of the coast, a hot pink sniper rifle in the back seat and enough C4 to explode the Empire State building. With enough cash to slick the way they were set, just a couple of idiots taking a road trip with no real destination besides “away.”

“Don’t worry so much, we’ll make it.”

Michael always knew just how to abate the anxiety. 

When they reached Los Santos, Michael “Mogar” Jones became a big hit. Mogar from the shadows was like death itself stalking you. Dahlia wasn’t needed any longer, they’d grown too much for her services. Brownman and Mogar took the city in stride, trying not to step on the toes of the crews wandering around too much. They danced between territories those first couple of months, staying in motels and living in the car in between. They finally settled on a small studio apartment with hand me down furniture and an xbox shoved in the corner. It was comfortable, and it was home for the first time since they could really remember. 

Soon enough, Michael became Ray’s savior. In more ways that one, Ray was growing as a person. His anxiety was mostly under control, and his confidence was at an all time high. In a way, they’d already made it. Crews were constantly hiring them and they were known to have no loyalty beyond the highest bidder for their services. Ray made the mistake of taking a job that gave him a shiver down his spine, but he ignored his gut feeling in favor of the sweet smell of cold hard cash. Targeting Geoff Ramsey, a well known name in the area, was a pretty shitty idea in the long run. In hindsight, Ray felt like an idiot. Ramsey was known to have the Vagabond on his side, as well as Free and Pattillo who were some of the biggest names in the game for what they did. He hadn’t expected them to find out honestly, or to target his home. 

He’d thought they’d been more careful than that. But when he and Michael returned home one day to find the whole gang in their apartment, Michael had stepped forward and shoved Ray behind him. Ray had shaken in his jeans with the threat of a panic attack, and the entire scene was dulled and muted by the rush of blood in his ears. By the time he really came back around, Michael had talked his way into joining the crew. 

Or so he claimed.

When it became obvious that Ramsey had offered it and Michael had jumped at the chance not to be worried about their next job, Ray took one look at Michael’s sunshine-bright smile and decided that worse things could happen to them. 

_It’s coming down down, it’s coming down down…_


	3. Renegades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People are not so sweet after all. There’s no general guide for how to deal with humanity, but there used to be a general understanding that people were inherently good. Kind. Sweet. 
> 
> This was not the case in the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: People Are Not So Sweet After All
> 
> Renegades - X Ambassadors

People are not so sweet after all. There’s no general guide for how to deal with humanity, but there used to be a general understanding that people were inherently good. Kind. Sweet. 

This was not the case in the slightest. 

The Vagabond had seen many things in his life, one time he was accompanied on a job by someone wearing a tv head made of cardboard as a face mask and that was pretty weird, but that guy? ….girl….person? Renegade. Renegade made him think, and not necessarily in a bad way.

As previously mentioned, Renegade wore a cardboard face mask made to look like a television, one of those boxy things you’d find accompanied on the shoulders of some teenage girl or guy looking to be quirky at a convention. However, with Renegades reputation for silent stealth and a head count more concerning than their lack of outward gender norms, it seemed somehow...fitting. Vagabond wore the skull mask, and Renegade the television. 

The job they’d both been on was rather simple. They were hired muscle, the Vagabond with his knives and threatening demeanor, and the Renegade with sharpened piano wire and lazy movements. Renegade didn’t talk, not much anyway, and the Vagabond found this comforting in a way. No need to made idle small, and when Renegade did have something to say it was always through sign language, something Vagabond had picked up on a whim back in his college days. Still, between the twitch of their fingers and small breathy laughs, the two seemed to get along just fine after just a few short hours. It was surprising how open Renegade was about their life, about their passions and the way they worked and why they worked in such a gory profession. Turns out they simply liked the life, the anonymity and the silence. 

They liked a lot of things, like plants and sunlight and the sand between their toes. 

They hated a lot of things in equal measure, like animal abuse and the look on a man’s face when he took a business call.

They enjoyed the rush of blood and feeling of power behind taking someone’s life, and hated gum with a burning passion.

Most of all - they hated people. 

Hated people with a fury that left their hands shaking and them slowly pulling away. Hands curled into fists in their shirt and they seemed to take a deep shuddering breath, and the Vagabond paused before asking why.

People are not so sweet after all.

They had time to kill, people to just stand around. They had time for stories though Vagabond did not share many. Renegade did most of the talking, about how abusive and absent parents had led them into a world they wished on no child, how drugs and lust ruined a family home, how anger and deceit led to lonely nights and angry fights that lasted long into the night. Renegade spoke of the evils of mankind and how horrible humans were with shaking, stumbling fingers, and by the end of it they had failed their mission because the informant they had meant to scare into talking was dead. Renegade had strangled her with her own infinity scarf tucked neatly against her throat, in a fit of anger. 

There was a pause as Renegade sucked in deep breaths, cardboard rattling against their skull before the two took stock of what had happened.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Unsurprisingly, Renegade’s voice held no clues about who or what they were. They simply strode from the room, wire dancing between their fingers and thoroughly tensed in preparation for a fight. They met little resistance considering few knew about their mishap, and when they left they burned the building to the ground with a few cans of gasoline from the trunk of Renegade’s stolen vehicle. They left in a blaze of glory, Renegade’s hands steady on a sniper rifle and Vagabond sturdy at the wheel.

“So….why come out here?”

Renegade tilted their head for a moment, pondering the question. Vagabond was almost impressed with the way they didn’t react to his raspy voice, that usually got a chill down the spine. They slid their fingers down the barrel of the gun reverently, as though worshipping the weapon.

“I guess…..I just wanted an excuse to cleanse a city with fire.”

A silence descended between them as Vagabond fled from the scene, leaving the sound of sirens and trucks behind as they headed into the mountains for safety. The gang they had betrayed would be hot on their heels for a while and the two knew that they couldn’t stay in the city. Quietly Renegade pointed out directions to a tiny house with a small yard and potted plants in the windows. Both hired muscle got out of the car, pushing it over a cliff to fall down the mountain, and went inside. Showering and washing their clothes both were reluctant to take off their headgear, though Renegade seemed to leave theirs on for Vagabond’s comfort more than anything. They sat on the couch with their legs crossed, silently offering the larger man the bed should he want it.

Shortly after, Renegade left, with the house keys left on a small coffee table and a request to take a plant with him when Vagabond left. 

Ryan would never admit how he waited hours until he couldn’t stand, how he slept in that rather large bed in the small loft, how he took the keys with him or how he rescued a small succulent with the name EDGAR in swooping sharpied letters on the bottom of the pot. 

Ryan would never admit that before he joined the crew, the Fake AH Crew, Renegade had been the best friend he had, even for those short hours. So when he ignored the picture frame showing off their face, ignored the mail with their name in big blocky letters (Nasim, his mind would betray him) and ignored the very lived in feel of the home in general, he didn’t feel guilty. He felt weary for losing such a fast friend, deep in that old part of his mind where friends were hard to come by but cherished when they were there. 

People are never nice, never kind. 

People are not so sweet after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> send me prompts/pairings/headcanons: god-damn-dude.tumblr.com


	4. Run Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day we can get away, leave it all behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coleman Hell - Run Wild
> 
> This turned out a lot longer than expected but gosh do I love Trevor lately.

Trevor was never one to stay in one place for very long. He never felt the need to, he liked the feeling of wind rushing through his hair during a getaway or a road trip, and the longest he’d stayed in one place was fourteen years but that didn’t count because he didn’t have a choice then. Back then he didn’t know any better. The moment he could get away from those broken bottles and the stench of stale cigarette smoke he did, stealing away into the night with a duffel bag full of clothes and a fist full of cash, and a one way bus ticket to Los Santos, the cheapest ticket he could get. After all, no one wanted to go there of all places, not to stay anyway. Round trip was more expensive in the long run, because even though the city was ridden with crime it was still a rather attractive tourist destination. If you hit the right places of course.

Trevor wasn’t interested in all that though, what he wanted was a fresh start. So with bright eyes and a small smile he boarded that bus and leaned his head against the cool window and stared at the passing scenery, settling in as he watched sirens pass by. He wondered briefly if his mother would miss him, if she’d call the police and search for him but realized he didn’t care, so he pushed those thoughts aside and forgot them. The trip was long and exhausting but once he was dropped off in the city he was smitten. The hustle and bustle and how everyone seemed to glare, it was like heaven to a fresh faced kid like him.

If only he could have realized how bad it would get for him though.

He was fifteen with no sense of direction and no home to go to, a fistful of dwindling cash that wouldn’t buy him an apartment and an amber alert that went nation wide. Looks like mother could pretend to care for screen time that would get her sympathy money for more booze. He avoided looking people directly in the face and learned how to beg on the streets, nearly got picked up by the cops a few times and watched the seasons change once, then twice, then watched as the amber alerts stopped. He had to give them credit, they went on for a long while trying to find him, his mother seemed to have a lot of faith that he was alive and well and hiding somewhere. Eventually though it had to come to a close, and once they deemed him long gone the case was closed and he was finally forgotten. Trevor had never felt so free before, though he was still trapped in his own way. He was still a teenager, figuring himself out in his time and his own way, though he didn’t have much space to do so. 

He learned a lot of things in Los Santos, and the first was how to survive. 

He learned to steal and to pickpocket, to pick locks and take from those more fortunate from him. He targeted college campuses, posing as a high school kid touring his way through the buildings. Rich kids were surprisingly easy to get through, to steal from and to trick. Fresh faced and with a bright smile he often managed to charm the girls into buying him lunch under the pretense of having forgotten his own money, and they took to him well. He took advantage of his baby face and used it to his benefit, and managed to eventually get off the streets when he turned enough of a profit from his ill gotten gains. It wasn’t glamorous but the stars in his eyes hadn’t dwindled any and he’d been given a gift as far as he was concerned. He lived in a crumbling building in the poorest neighborhood, which was saying something considering where he was from. He loved his shitty apartment with it’s peeling paint and rattling pipes. It was his and that was all that mattered, luckily the rent was cheap and he didn’t have to do that much to scrape by. 

Eating was a different story though.

Living with his mother had been difficult, and one thing she often forgot to do was feed him. So not eating for a few days? He could do. But he was a growing boy still, now eighteen and his hunger pangs came harsher and more frequently. He tried to ignore them but he eventually relented and realized that grocery shopping was hard.

That’s where he met Matt.

Juggling two cartons of orange juice in his hands trying to determine the real difference between Tropicana and store brand Trevor had a look of pure determination on his face, tongue poking out from between his lips as he balanced the basket at his elbow, mostly filled with jars of tomato sauce and boxes of pasta. Couldn’t go wrong there right? It was sustenance and it was cheap and those were two things he needed in life, for better or for worse. He glanced up and picked the store brand, plopping it in his basket before moving on, and passed through the bakery section a few aisles down, but managed to crash baskets with someone else.

“Whoa hey there sorry - wow that’s a lot of pastries.”

The dark haired male in question frowned with a furrowed brow before uncomfortable shifting his basket, hunching in on himself.

“And that’s a lot of pasta.”

“Touche.”

Trevor grinned and Matt couldn’t help but compare it to a light bulb, electric and blinding when stared directly at. 

“Matt.”

“Trevor.”

Matt was a hacker who lived a floor above Trevor, a small blessing the two discovered on the walk home which was slightly awkward, but eventually became funny. They weren’t fast friends, no this was a simple formality at first. They were polite sure, but they went their separate ways and forgot each other’s names and Trevor dreamed of a curtain of dark hair and a furrowed brow and Matt dreamed of a beaming smile bright like the sun. Trevor spent more time in the criminal underground, forgetting the meeting and instead focusing on his career and the need for money. He found he was rather adept and breaking and entering with a good pair of gloves and a rather cheap set of lockpicks he’d managed to scavenge up from some shady pawn shop. He did this for a while, until he broke into the wrong person’s house. Instead of a beating though he got a job offer, use his skills to run with a crew for a while in exchange for not getting his legs broken. He took it, he needed the extra protection for a good long while and the extra cash to pad his way into a cushier life wouldn’t be that bad either. 

He ran with the crew for months, making a decent amount of money to upgrade his lifestyle though he didn’t leave his apartment. He made it cheerier though, replaced the peeling paint and paid to have the pipes fixed, though the rattling still stayed. The leaks though, those went away. He filled his life with green green green, plants as far as the eye could see and every surface of his limited living space was soon filled with plant life, breathing in his oxygen. He loved it, loved Los Santos more and more and more every day he was there. It was growing on him, in him, like a virus. Or a fungus. Or something equally disgusting that he could easily deal with, cut out, get rid of, but chose not to. He ran with his crew and got off on the thrill, and this is where he met Jeremy.

Jeremy was faster friends with Trevor than Matt was. They didn’t live in the same apartment building but Jeremy loved video games and pizza and cheap tomato sauce so it was a no-brainer that they’d hang out, spending so much time in the same gang anyway. They made so much noise that Trevor received complaints and when the threat of being kicked out loomed over Trevor’s head they left his apartment and hit the town in Jeremy’s beat up truck, roaming from bar to bar until dawn arose on the horizon. They lay on the sandy beach drunk out of their minds, giggling to themselves and Trevor was struck with happiness again. He loved this, loved Los Santos and he was so grateful he got out of that god forsaken town all those years ago, and he stared up at the dawn sky and listened to the sound of sirens in the distance and thought to himself _This. This is my future and my past and my present and nothing will ever change that._

Jeremy declared shortly after that he was moving on to bigger and better things and left the crew behind, left Trevor behind, and Trevor lost his only friend. Trevor’s world got a little bit darker then, undoubtedly smaller suddenly, but he could deal, had before. He still had….who was it? Matt. Right. Maybe he should try to build that bridge before he burned it. He showed up at Matt’s doorstep that night with offers of pasta and video games and god when was the last time Matt had slept? He looked a wreck, bags under his eyes but more than willing to spend time with a hot meal with bright eyes staring at a small screen playing Mario party on a second hand console. Trevor didn’t feel his heart flutter or skip any beats, not yet. They built a friendship though, that night as the moon swooped over the sky and the night bled into day. 

Trevor left the crew once he sensed that they were crossing boundaries they shouldn’t have, once he heard about the Fakes and he knew they were crossing into territories that weren’t theirs to take. He made a smart move and watched from afar as they were burned to the ground by a duo of curls and windswept hair, laughter and wheezes. He recognized them from the news, Gavino and Mogar, but he didn’t say anything that day, or any other day. He went back to picking locks and stealing things but with a nicer set and a more professional air this time, managed to make more money this time, buy nicer things this time. Matt became a better friend, and they decided it was time to maybe work together, maybe form their own crew. Move on to bigger and better things. Trevor learned to hotwire cars, to drive and to swerve through traffic with practiced ease. He learned to be a getaway driver to the best of his capabilities, which wasn’t the best but it was good enough for now. But with just the two of them it wasn’t enough, they weren’t enough and Trevor knew who he wanted but didn’t know how to find him, but then he did.

Jeremy had resorted to underground fighting that much was obvious by the cage fighting scene. Trevor bet a decent amount of money on him and waited, cheering silently in the crowd as he faced someone twice his size. Jeremy seemed confident though and barely broke a sweat as he pummeled the other guy to a pulp that was barely recognizable by the time he was done. It began there, in that dingy underground arena that Trevor felt it first, that fluttering in his chest as Jeremy made eye contact and grinned at him with a blinding blood stained smile. They spoke after the fight in hushed but excitable tones and suddenly two became a three man crew. 

“The stream team.”

Matt looked confused, Jeremy more like Trevor was losing it. 

“Get it? Cause we'll be messing with camera streams? Like security feeds? Okay now that I said it out loud it sounds stupid so call us what you want.”

And Trevor laughed but Matt thought the sound was beautiful and that's when he fell, watching Trevor smile and Jeremy shake his head. He was fucked but that was alright now, that was okay because he had his new crew. 

“No no. I like it, stream team.”

Jeremy agreed and Trevor brightened the whole room. These three idiots with little concept of what they were doing or why, strung along by chance and pure luck. They bonded quickly and became faster friends, and pulled even more sure shot heists. Small time things, corner store robberies and breaking and entering with Matt hacking security feeds, and Jeremy and Trevor doing the actual robbery. It was fun and dangerous and an adventure all in one and they loved every part of it, the good and the bad. They loved the getaway cars and the high speed chases away from cops, but there were quiet heists too when the cops were too busy with the Fakes to bother with them. Sometimes they judged and mapped and planned around the Fakes, because the Fakes tended to be predictable enough in their patterns to plan around and that left them with more than enough time to get their shit together. They were running wild and free and no one could or would stop them. 

There were times of crisis of course, where Trevor had his panic attacks and anxiety the same as Jeremy and Matt had theirs. The three were a chaotic mess and they wouldn’t trade each other for the world if they were honest, anxiety and panic induced nightmares combined. There were times where Trevor thought he could see his mother, smell the stench of stale cigarette smoke and feel broken beer bottles under the tender soles of his feet and it made his throat close up and his eyes glassy. Matt learned quickly that tea helped, lots and lots of nice hot fragrant tea and hey maybe he got caught staring by Jeremy when Trevor was damp eyed and red lipped from all the biting but that was okay because Jeremy liked to stare at Matt and Trevor in turn and god these three idiots were falling into a spiral of love and didn’t even realize it. Their heists were going good in retrospect and they were moving onto better apartments, and eventually they just moved in together platonically as roommates which in retrospect was also a very good thing but a bad thing for the pining. They crept around each other and walked on eggshells the first few days but soon fell into old habits and it was suddenly like before, like they’d never stopped knowing each other. Matt still ate like shit no matter how much fruit Trevor managed to steal from the market and Jeremy still couldn’t cook and Trevor still could really only boil water and make pasta but they made due with what they had, and it helped that they had a generous neighbor who made too much curry in her spare time and was willing to take a few bucks for a pot here and there. 

Sunlight streamed through see through curtains and Trevor’s plants were covering every available surface but there were hints of Matt and Jeremy in the mix too, and as Trevor stood in the pale early morning light he was struck so intensely with emotion that his knees nearly gave out. That day he cried in the shower where no one would see him, but he smiled. He had made it ma, look at him now. All the way out on the coast, warm air ruffling his dark locks. He’d started at the bottom and clawed his way to middle ground and he was happy where he was now, with a small crew who knew not to step on other people’s toes. They were making a living, not really a legal one but a good enough one where they didn’t really have to worry about much other than being shot. Surprisingly, they thought little about the dangers of the job and focused mostly on just getting it done and over with and perfecting their routines. They never really hit the same place twice, unless they felt the people deserved it, and they were alive. 

They smoked one night under the stars, lying on the hood of the car, Trevor between his two boys. Smoke curled in his lungs and made them tickle, and he gave a short cough as he stared at the light polluted sky, trying to make out but failing at the twinkling of dying stars. There was nothing though, and he gave up shortly after he started. He sat up, pulling his legs up with him, and a smile twitched at his lips. 

“Hey guys?”

“Yeah?”

Jeremy piped up, glancing at Trevor with a questioning look. Matt kept silent but watched them curiously, furrowing his brow when Trevor couldn’t stop the grin from splitting his face.

“You ever wonder why we’re he-”

Jeremy shoved Trevor off the car and he went sprawling into the dirt, laughing and shrieking. Matt and Jeremy looked at each other and began to laugh, hard enough to wheeze as Trevor picked himself off the ground and complained about the dirt covering his back. Matt and Jeremy stopped laughing and looked at each other, really looked at each other, and Trevor watched as they seemed to come to some sort of decision. They both leaned forward and Trevor felt his stomach bottom out as they kissed there under the moonlight, under the Vinewood sign where they weren’t supposed to be, foreign territory for both of them. It was hesitant and slow, as though they were getting used to each other all over again. He was jealous sure, but he flushed when they parted and looked at him, beckoning him over, and that night they broke down those walls that had built over their hearts. Trevor kissed Matt and Jeremy and felt himself soar into the sky and beyond, and knew that his whole life had been leading up to this moment. He had a crew, a life, two boys, and one love. Nothing else needed to be said, they could read it on each others faces as they drove off, spinning dust into the air as they laughed in the cool November air. 

 

Look at him now, a little boy with big dreams riding off into the night as it bled into daylight on the horizon, where the world took on a whole new meaning. Their life wasn’t perfect by any means, not legal not always fun and not safe, but it was good for them. Plants were soon joined by cats and Trevor was amazed by tiny balls of fur and muscle that meowed and they suddenly had a small family that could be looked after by that nice neighbor who cooked them curry some nights when they went on jobs. 

Some things were hard to judge, like how long to cook the pasta for and how high to turn the stove on and when exactly it was safe to start picking the lock of the front door, or how long they had before a silent alarm went off. One thing that they had as a constant though was each other, and if asked they wouldn’t have it any other way. 

They were running wild, living their lives one day at a time with no promises on their tongues.

It was all they could hope for and more.

_One day, we can get away_  
_Leave it all behind_  
_Oh, we gonna run wild_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> send me prompts/pairings/headcanons: god-damn-dude.tumblr.com
> 
> my tumblr is kind of wonky and won't always display messages so it's better if you send them through messenger if you have it yeah???


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